


Listen to the Voices

by Misos



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Gen, Irony, Mental Illness, Post-Episode: s08e10 In the Forest of the Night, kind of a soapbox, some character tags omitted to avoid spoiling the ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2517401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misos/pseuds/Misos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genius needs no cure, says the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen to the Voices

**Author's Note:**

> The most recent episode ("In the Forest of the Night") enraged me so much, I had to write this. The Doctor ended up being kind of a strawman, but I hope he's at least an in character strawman.

Clara Oswald rapped on the TARDIS door.

It swung open. “Right, you’re here. Just come along now, and –“ The Doctor froze.

“…Doctor?” Clara began after a few seconds. “Why are you… doing the not-talking thing? Please tell me there isn’t some sort of genocidal alien right behind me.”

“Who’s that?” the Doctor asked sharply, pointing a finger.

Clara turned, following his gaze. “That’s just a _student,_ Doctor. He transferred here last week.”

“What’s his name?”

Clara blinked. “I… can’t recall at the moment. I’ve only heard it a couple times. Does it really matter? I thought we were going to…er…Mondas, was it?”

“No, no.” The Doctor shook his head vehemently. “Not Mondas. Never Mondas. You must have misheard. Not that it matters, as there’s been a change of plans anyway.” He strode across the TARDIS’s threshold, and neatly closed the door behind him.

Clara sighed. “Look, um…” She turned to the dark haired boy who was currently eying the TARDIS with keen interest. “Sorry about this. I think he’s confused. You can just run along to your next class!” She smiled in an overly fake manner.

“But I am scheduled to be taking Algebra right now,” said the boy, in a voice just a little too deep for a middle-schooler. “It is uneccessary. I grasp the basic concepts already, and even if I did not, of what practical use is this knowledge?”

“Well, you’ll need it to get a job when you grow up.” Clara continued to smile.

“Job?” The boy shook his head slowly and deliberately. “No, I mean to _survive._ To propagate. To evolve. Algebra cannot help with that.”

“How old did you say he was?” the Doctor muttered in Clara’s ear.

“I am thirteen years old,” replied the boy.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “Very good hearing.” He turned to Clara. “I’d say this was worth investigating, wouldn’t you?”

“Doctor!” Clara hissed under her breath. “He’s part of the ‘gifted’ class! I know he speaks oddly, but not everything unusual is an alien, you know!”

“Ah, and what have those great oracles of humanity, the psychologists, labeled him with?”

Clara glanced around in frustration, and then walked out the door. “Come on,” she called to the Doctor. “ _You_ ,” –she adressed the boy– “are returning to class.”

He nodded silently.

“You were saying?” asked the Doctor, as they walked through the empty hallway.

“Um, let’s see… The file I got on him said…” Clara paused to think. “ _Crazy_ OCD, paranoid something-or-other, and they think he might have got autism.”

“IQ?” was the Doctor’s brief reply.

“Something insane.” Clara gestured vaguely. “I think it was around two-hundred.”

“Well, there’s your answer, then!” said the Doctor triumphantly. “All he needs is one diagnosis: _genius_!”

Clara laughed. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw his grades. He never even does the assignments half the time.”

“Have you tried putting him in more advanced classes? Quantum Physics, maybe?” asked the Doctor.

“Doctor, this is a grade school!” Clara exclaimed, exasperated.

“Then maybe you should talk to his parents, get him sent to college early. I’m telling you, Clara, I know a genius when I see one. That boy is probably going to end the great nuclear war of 2048.”

“There’s a nuclear war in 2048?”

“That was just an example!” The Doctor waved his hand dismissively. “Seriously, someone ought to say something to his parents.”

Clara sighed. “His hasn’t got any.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody knows.” Clara shrugged. “He just showed up one day. No one can figure out where he came from. Probably a runaway.”

“What are they doing about him?”

“He’s starting therapy next week, and –“

“ _Therapy_?!” The Doctor stood still. “Oh, no no no no _no_! If there’s one way to squash the ingenuity right out of someone, it’s _therapy_!” He turned on his heels and began to stride back in the direction of the TARDIS.

“Hey, hold on, what are you going to –“ Clara stopped short when she saw that the Doctor had himself stopped short.

The boy poked his head out of the TARDIS. “Oh. You came back soon. You.” He pointed to the Doctor. “You _are_ an alien, right?”

“Well, I – Well, yes, but – _How did you get into the TARDIS_?!” gasped the Doctor.

“I rewired the machinery in there.” The boy gestured to a panel hanging slightly ajar. “And, good. Because I need someone to get me back home. I already input the coordinates for my planet,” he added quickly.

The Doctor looked at Clara. “I told you he was a genius.”

“Wait, so _he’s_ an alien, too?” Clara stared at the boy in shock.

“So it seems!” confirmed the Doctor. “And hopefully one from a species without the compulsive need to _fix_ everything!” He followed the boy into the TARDIS. “This is why humans, as naturally clever and inquisitive they may be, were never the great innovators of the universe!” He pulled a lever on the TARDIS console. “They can’t abide anyone exceptional!”

Clara looked like she had a headache. “Right. Look, can we just get this over with?”

A loud thud reverberated through the room as the TARDIS landed.

“Is that your home?” The Doctor gestured at the monitor, which was showing a pristine white corridor.

“Yes.” The boy nodded solemnly. “Thank you. Could I perhaps take a small part of your ship with me, to assist in our technological development? We are suffering a scarcity of resources right now.”

“I’m sure you’ll advance your species just fine on your own,” the Doctor assured him, and as the boy stepped through the doors, he called out one last warning: “And remember! No therapy! No medication! No…brain surgery!”

The doors shut.

“Where is this, anyway, Doctor?” asked Clara, as he began to fiddle with the console. “What species was he?”

The Doctor frowned. “The TARDIS won’t say. The map’s malfunctioning. And as for his species…well, whatever it is, I don’t doubt they’ll be better off for having him in it!”

– – –

“Davros! Where have you _been_ all day? Mother’s worried sick! Did something happen?”

And the dark-haired boy turned, the sound of the TARDIS’s dematrialization still ringing in his ears. “I am _fine_ , Yarvell,” he sighed. “Perfectly fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT (9/27/2015): You know, when I wrote this fic almost a year ago, I never in a million years would have guessed that in just the next season, something so similar would _actually happen_. I can't help but feel smug about the fact that I thought of it first.


End file.
